Mount Vernon: a letter to the children of America.

ft

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

PRESENTED BY

PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND
MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID

WASHINGTON AT THE AGE OF TWENTY -FIVE

^.

PUBLISHEES' NOTE.

THE readers of this little volume are
indebted to tlie courtesy of Mr. George
P. Putnam, publisher of Irving's Life of
Washington, for the two interesting illus
trations which embellish it. The medal
lion likeness of " Washington at Twenty-
five " is now first engraved from the veri
table miniature presented by General
Washington to his niece.

NEW YORK, December 15, 1858.

MOUNT VERNON.

DEAR CHILDREN :

You have all been taught from your cra
dles to honor the name of George Washing
ton. Many of you already know that Mount
Vernon was his home, where he lived and
died. Far away, in the good State of Vir
ginia, an old, gray, stone house, with tall
piazza, and peaked roof, and overlooking
cupola, stands on an elevated bank, which is
beautifully shaded by many different trees,
while the broad river Potomac flows grandly
below — this is Mount Vernon. Good men
love their homes. General Washington loved
Mount Vernon very dearly. He loved those
gray walls for the sake of the elder brother
who had built them — Mr. Lawrence Wash
ington, who, in boyhood, had been kind as a

10 MOUNT VEENON.

father to him. He loved the great woods,
with their noble timber, and all the wild
creatures sheltered there ; he loved the broad
farms with their rich crops, their fresh springs,
the patient flocks, and the kindly cattle feed
ing on the sweet grass of the field. Our
Heavenly Father has given many gracious
blessings to a country home ; and all these
were enjoyed by General Washington, with a
wisely thankful heart.

It is more than a hundred years since
George Washington first lived at Mount Ver-
non. He went there a youth — a noble youth
of fifteen, sound in body, ardent in temper,
generous at heart, purely upright in word and
in deed. Already, at that early day, he was
fitting himself with care for the great work
of life — by study, by forming healthy habits
of body and of mind, by good thought and
worthy action.

Pause awhile, dear children ; turn eye and
heart towards that quiet country home, on
the banks of the Potomac. Remember all
you have read, all that has been told to you,
of the great man whose noble head was so

MOUNT VEENON. 11

long sheltered beneath that roof. Remember
his honorable youth ; see him first crossing the
threshold of Mount Yernon, with his survey
ing instruments, when a growing lad of six
teen ; see him bravely making his way on
foot, on horseback, through forests, over
mountain and marsh, exposed to all winds and
weathers, ever diligent, ever trustworthy, ever
faithful to the task of the hour. See him,
when still a beardless lad, drawing maps, and
making surveys, so correct in all their parts,
that to this day practised lawyers turn to
them in cases of doubt and dispute.

See him watching, in sickness, by the side
of the kind brother who loved him so truly;
see him intrusted with the guardianship of
the little fatherless child, and the large prop
erty of that brother — he who was then himself
but a youth under age. Well and honorably
indeed must his first years of manhood have
been passed, to justify such a trust !

Observe him during the long struggle, and
the many difficulties of the Old French "War,
as we call it in our histories. Behold him, at
nineteen, one of those intrusted with the duty

12 MOUNT VEENON.

of preparing his native province for war. Call
to mind all his toil, all his perils, when, a few
months later, he travelled through the wilder
ness at mid-winter, bearing letters from the
governor of Virginia to the French command
er, on the shores of Lake Erie. You remem
ber that long and perilous journey, with all its
hourly dangers from the deep snows, the an
gry rivers, the cunning wiles of the enemy,
the treachery of the savage hovering about his
path, more fiercely cruel than the beasts ol
prey. You remember well that false traitor,
the Indian guide, who offered to lead him
through the wilderness, and then, suddenly
turning from his side, raised his gun, took
murderous aim, and fired at the unsuspecting
young officer ! You remember the humanity
of Major Washington, who disarmed the vile
wretch, but gave him his life. And the raft
on the wild waters of the troubled Alleghany
— you have not forgotten that daring launch,
with the long fireless night on the desolate
island. You know already how faithfully the
papers intrusted to his care were guarded
amid a thousand dangers, and, after more than

MOUNT VEUNON. 13

two months of wintry peril in the wilderness,
were safely delivered into the hands to which
they were addressed.

Behold him once more leaving the quiet
walls of Mount Vernon, and hastening, with
early spring, at the head of his little troop of
Virginians, to take post as the advance-guard
of the province, breaking, with toilsome strug
gles, a road through the wilds of Western
Virginia, along the passes of " Savage Moun
tain," through those gloomy woods called the
" Shades of Death." Then came the skirmish
at the Great Meadows, where the blood shed
was the first drawn in a long and famous war
— a war gradually extending from the moun
tain-passes of Virginia, and the wooded plains
of Ohio, to famous fields of the Old World, to
the banks of the Elbe and the Danube, where
all the great powers of Europe were march
ing their armies to and fro. You know al
ready by heart, my children, the course of
George Washington through that war. You
have followed in your histories the boastful
march of General Braddock ; you have noted
the modest wisdom, the gallant bravery, the

14 MOUNT VEENON.

generous humanity, of the young Virginian
aid. So often have we read the narrative,
that we seem almost to have beheld him with
our own eyes, riding about that fatal field of
Fort Duquesne, seeking to rally the flying
troops, exposed to many deaths, horses shot
under him, bullets passing through his cloth
ing, his brother-officers falling one after an
other, and he left alone, his tall figure and fine
horse a mark to the trained aim of the French
soldier, and to the quick-eyed savage in his
lair.* We, the women and children of the
country, seem still to tremble, these hundred
years later, at the dangers which threatened

* " The sachem made known to him that he was one
of the warriors in the service of the French, who lay in
ambush on the banks of the Monongahela, and wrought
such havoc in Braddock's army. He declared that he
and his young men had singled out Washington, as he
made himself conspicuous, riding about the field of bat
tle with the general's orders, and had fired at him re
peatedly without success ; whence they had concluded
that he was under the protection of the Great Spirit, had
a charmed life, and could not be slain in battle."-*—/*"
ving's Washington, vol. i., p. 336.

MOUNT VEENON. 15

that noble head. And you have read of the
after-trials of the same war, darker perhaps to
his ardent spirit than in the eager years of
youth, than the fatal day at Fort Duquesne —
trials of endurance under neglect, abuse and
opposition — trials which, by the will of Provi
dence, were moulding his character for diffi
culties still more severe, through which, at a
later period, he was nobly to steer his own
course and that of his country.

And then, when Fort Duquesne had at
length fallen, when Canada had been con
quered, and his native province was freed from
peril, there came a period of honorable re
pose. Colonel Washington married. Mount
Vernon became a happy house. My children,
it is those we love — father and mother, hus
band and wife, brother and sister, son and
daughter — it is these near and dear ones,
sharing our joys and sorrows, with us at our
daily meal, our daily prayer, these whose love
goes with us along the whole path of life, and
still watches over the grave — it is these best,
most worthy, most enduring affections of our
nature, which give, as it were, heart and soul

16 MOUNT VEENOX.

to the Christian home. George Washington
was a man whose affections were true, pure,
strong. The home of his boyhood now became
dearer to him than ever, for the sake of the
wife and children who shared its blessings with
him.

There are men, my young friends, capable
of great and honorable exertion when aroused
by some urgent need, acting bravely and zeal
ously in hours of danger, but sinking into
weakness and selfish indulgence in hours of
repose. Those were peaceful days to Colonel
Washington. But the hours were not idled
away. He well knew the great value of time
worthily spent. The plantation of Mount
Vernon was large, stretching for miles along
the bank of the Potomac. It contained dif
ferent farms, watered by brooks and rivulets,
with much woodland also. The woods were
left wholly wild, with large droves of swine
feeding on the fallen acorns and beech-nuts.
The farms were thoroughly worked. George
Washington was a wise, industrious, thrifty
farmer ; he was not a man to be content with
meagre returns from the soil ; he spared no

MOUNT VEENON. 17

pains to bring the very best crops from his
fields. Once in a while a ship would sail up
the Potomac, anchor in the river, and receive
the choice produce of the plantation. The to
bacco, good as that once smoked by Raleigh
in the presence of Queen Bess, was sent to
London. The return voyages brought him
many necessaries of life, and many little mat
ters which to-day you and I might find at the
nearest counter in our own neighborhood.
Colonel Washington wrote to London for
pins, for Mrs. Washington's toilet, and for a
doll, a doll for the little daughter of the house ;
" a fashionably dressed baby " it was to be !
The flour from the fields of Mount "Vernon
was sent in other ships to the West India Isl
ands, and there, my children, the name of
George Washington became known in the
markets, not as that of a gallant soldier, not
as that of a wise statesman, but as the name
of an upright man, an honest farmer, faultless
in good faith. The barrels marked with that
name were not opened for examination ; the
dealers were confident that the quality of the
2

18 MOUNT VERNON.

flour within was precisely such as it was rep
resented to be ; it needed no inspection.

It was during those quiet years, my chil
dren, that a little church arose in the neigh
borhood of Mount Vernon, the church at
Pohick, planned, and in a good measure built,
by Colonel Washington. Every Sunday, as
a rule, the gates of Mount Vernon opened to
Colonel Washington and his family, on their
way to the house of God. He was not one
of those who, calling themselves Christians,
yet neglect the public worship of the Lord
God of heaven and earth.

It would not be easy, dear children, to
imagine a more happy, a more honorably
peaceful way of life, than that led at Mount
Vernon during those quiet years ; the active
usefulness, the manly exercises without — the
generous hospitalities, the neighborly chari
ties, the happy family circle within — these
gave Colonel Washington what his heart
most enjoyed. But, my children, all these
pleasures were now to be deliberately sac-
rificed ; they were all to be nobly given
up. Much as he loved that happy home, his

MOUNT VEKNON. 19

love of country was still stronger. His sense
of honor, of duty, his reverence for truth and
justice, were much too great .to allow him to
sit idle by the hearthstone of Mount Vernon,
when the highest interests of his country were
at stake.

You know already that the war of the
Revolution, which separated America from
England, was brought on by the injustice of
the English government. As we sow, so
shall we reap, whether nations or individuals.
Injustice, whether public or private, is doom
ed in the end, under one form or another, to
work out its own punishment. The English
government insisted on exercising in the col
onies powers to which they had no just right.
The people of the colonies remonstrated;
they sought redress by peaceable means.
They long clung to the mother country hope
ful of justice and reconciliation ; but, when all
peaceful measures had failed — when troops
were sent among them to compel obedience
to laws plainly unconstitutional and tyranni
cal — then, at length, they were themselves

20 MOUNT VEENON.

driven to take up arms in defence of their
cherished rights.

The memorable war began between thir
teen feeble colonies and their mother country,
one of the richest and most powerful nations
then on the earth. Small would have been
the hope of these colonies if they had de
pended on the numbers of their troops, on
the strength of their fortresses, on the size of
their fleets. Regular armies they had none.
Their fortresses were few and small, and
chiefly in the hands of the enemy. With a
sea-board coast stretching a thousand miles
along the Atlantic, they had not one regu
larly armed vessel to represent a navy — to
defend their hundred ports. But, my young
friends, the hearts of the people were brave.
For leaders they had wise and upright men.
And the moral strength of their cause was to
them like an impregnable citadel.

You already know who became the great
leader of the American people in the struggle
which then began. There was no man on the
continent who felt a more generous indigna
tion at the wrongs inflicted on his country-

MOUNT VEENON. 21

^.en, than George Washington, then in his
peaceful home at Mount Yernon. With a
devotion purely unselfish, he stood ready to
give up life, and ease, and property, to the
service of his country in her hour of utmost
need. An American army was already gath
ering on the heights of Boston. An Ameri
can Congress met at Philadelphia. Ere many
days had passed, George Washington was
unanimously appointed, by the Congress of
the Colonies, Commander- in-Chief of their
troops. His skill as an officer, his position,
his talents, his superior character, were de
clared such as " would unite the cordial exer
tions of all the colonies better than any other
person in the Union." Mark that word
Union, my young friends, now first used on a
most solemn public occasion — a word carry
ing with it a principle of wise statesmanship,
of generous sympathies, of prudent concilia
tion — a principle which has been, more than
any other, the life and soul of our common
country, which has, under Providence, made
of a dozen scattered provinces one great and
powerful nation, .which has bound up in one ^

22 MOUNT VEKNON.

common weal the hearts of millions of men,
making brothers and comrades of those who,
without it, must one day have become bitter
rivals and deadly foes. And how happily wa?
the word now uttered in this its very earliesl
use, connected with the name of George
Washington — connected with the name of
the man who throughout his whole course
proved how deeply he felt the full force of its
meaning— who labored so faithfully to uphold
the just and wise and generous principles it
involves.

The choice of Congress was unanimous.
The gravely weighty charge was accepted
with that unfeigned modesty, that noble
humility, which entered so thoroughly into this
great man's nature. "There is something
charming to me in the conduct of Washing
ton, a gentleman of one of the first fortunes
on the continent, leaving his delicious retire
ment, his family and friends, sacrificing his
ease, and hazarding all in the cause of his
country. His motives are noble, and disin
terested." Such were the words of Johr
», Adams.

MOUNT VERNON. 23

Then followed the during siege of Boston.
It was a siege begun with the utmost boldness,
and carried on with a resolution, an unyield
ing fortitude under difficulties, still more re
markable. On the 3d of July, 1775, General
Washington took formal command of the
army — an army most uncouth to the eye of a
soldier — a besieging army of husbandmen,
without tents, without stores, ragged and
half-clad, scarcely half-armed, and with little
ammunition. But beneath that scanty cloth
ing beat the hearts of brave men ; the spirit
of injured freemen lighted up those sharp
features. The character of an army has ever
been of far more importance than its weapons.
Those rude countrymen had already compelled
the brilliant English troops at Lexington to
retreat. They had all but won the field of
Bunker Hill from the experienced English
general, commanding at Boston. During the
first months they kept their ground bravely,
m spite of every obstacle. But these undiscip
lined yeomen, brave as men could be in the
field, at length became weary of the camp.
As the siege was prolonged their patience

24 MOUNT VERXOX.

failed. Discontent, murmuring were there, as
the time of enlistment drew to a close ; many
left the camp, and turned their faces home
ward. It needed a wiser courage than theirs,
spirits more enduring, to complete the work
so bravely begun. At one moment it seemed
as if General Washington with his officers
might be left alone on those heights — like
fabled champions of old — beleaguering the
British army in Boston ! The American
forces were melting away — varying with
every waning moon — ebbing and flowing like
the tides in the harbor below, but with far
more of caprice and uncertainty in their move
ment, than that of the waves of the sea. But,
in the midst of dangers, and trials, and diffi
culties for beyond what your young minds can
now comprehend, the fortitude of General
Washington remained unwavering. He pru
dently concealed his weakness. He patiently
labored to enlist a new army — he planned —
he wrote — he watched with unwearied fideli
ty. Men, cannon, powder, clothing, were
sought far and near. In the very face of the
enemy, the army was built up anew. "No ad-

MOUNT VEENON. 25

vantage was lost. The American intrench-
ments were pushed nearer and nearer to the
'besieged town. At length the hour came — the
city could no longer be held by the enemy ;
with the dawn of day, March the 3d, 1776,
the bay of Boston was crowded with English
shipping, getting under way; the British
army hurried on board, and the fleet sailed
out to sea. The victory was won. Boston
was free. By noon General Putnam — that
brave old man — had marched into the city ;
the young flag of the country was seen float
ing freshly over the town, in the bleak March
breezes.

New York was threatened. General
Washington hastened there. An attack
was expected. It came ere long. A great
fleet of one hundred and thirty sail appeared
at the mouth of the Hudson, and was soon at
anchor in the bay. An army of 30,000 men
was on Board. Their white tents arose on
Staten Island — and, ere long, a large British
force landed on Long Island: A battle was
fought. The Americans opposed the enemy
with great gallantry ; but they had failed to

26 MOUNT VEKNON.

guard one important point — they were sur
rounded, and thrown into confusion. General
Washington was in New York, preparing for
an attack on the city ; he hurried over the
river, but only in time to see his defeated
troops driven from their ground, and retreat
ing toward Brooklyn. Happily for them,
night was at hand. The fighting ceased.
The Americans had lost two thousand men —
the English commander believed a complete
victory to be in his power — he felt sure of
forcing the whole American army, now lying
weary and defeated within sight and sound
of his own troops, to surrender as prisoners
of war. He lay dreaming in his tent. With
early dawn he was aroused by strange tidings.
The American army, to the very last man,
had vanished — their camp, close at hand, was
empty ! It seemed incredible. Silently and
swiftly, in the dead of night, shrouded in a
heavy fog; the army had been withdrawn by
General Washington, embarked in boats hasti
ly brought together, and safely ferried across
the river to New York. A more sudden and

MOITNT VEKNON. 27

and skilful retreat is scarcely to be found in
the records of history.

But, my children, that celebrated move
ment, after the defeat on Long Island, was
only the first step in a long course of deliberate
retreat, now rendered necessary by the weak
ness of the American army, and the increas
ing strength of the British forces. New York
could no longer be held. It was necessary to
abandon the city. Slowly and painfully, amid
many trials and vexations, General Washing
ton withdrew his army to the northward.
Wherever it was possible, there he paused ; and
his troops, skilful as ever with the spade,
threw up intrenchments with surprising quick
ness of hand and eye. In October, amid the
colored autumnal groves of Westchester, was
fought the battle of White Plains, where the
Americans yielded the ground, but without
being defeated. Rapidly, during the dark
hours of a frosty night, while the camp-fires of
both armies lighted up the shadowy hill sides,
our countrymen raised new redoubts, built up
of maize stalks, and their shaggy roots matted
with earth. By skilful work, and rapid move-

28 MOUNT VEENON.

ments, General Washington succeeded in
securing a position too strong for attack.
The English general lay idle awhile in his
camp, and then marched away, moving west
ward. Fort "Washington on the Hudson was,
his object. This fortress protected the north
ern country against the English forces in "New
York. It was a post of great importance,
but had not the strength to repulse alone an
enemy of the force of General Howe. Gene
ral Washington had wished to withdraw the
troops. There was delay, and some indecision,
A strong English army appeared, with a sum
mons to surrender. They were very gallantly
opposed. General Washington, then in New
Jersey, became painfully anxious ; on learning
that the fort was besieged, he mounted his
horse, rode rapidly to Fort Lee, on the Jersey
shore, and threw himself into a boat, to cross
the river ; but he met General Greene returning
with hopeful reports from the garrison. Sta
tioning himself on the heights of the palisades,
immediately opposite, the Commander-in-Chicf
now watched with the utmost anxiety the fate
of his brave troops. But they had undertak-

MOUNT VEKNOtf. 29

en a task beyond their strength ; ere long the
Commander-in-Chief had the bitter mortifica
tion of seeing the gallant defenders of the fort
compelled to surrender. The American flag
was lowered — nearly one-third of the army
were taken prisoners, besides stores and am
munition of the greatest importance. Two
thousand eight hundred men of the American
troops were disarmed, and marched off at
midnight to New York, prisoners of war.
Sad was the fate of many of these, at a later
day, in the wretched prisons where they were
confined by the enemy, like evil-doers.

General Washington's army was now but
little more than two thousand men, chiefly en
camped at Hackensack, in New Jersey. An
English force, six thousand strong, suddenly
crossed the river, to surprise them. General
Washington was on the alert. Rapidly as
possible he was compelled to retreat to save
the small remnant of the American army;
tents, baggage, stores, provisions, cannons,
— all were abandoned. At their utmost speed
the troops move toward the bridge over the
3

30 MOUNT VEKNON.

Hackensack — they reach it — cross the river,
and are safe for the day.

And then followed months of painful wan
derings on the part of the enfeebled American
army — as usual suffering for want of clothing,
arms, and food, — "ragged tatterdemalions,"
as the British officers contemptuously called
them. Steadily and wisely General Washing
ton led the forced retreat — now retiring at a
slow, deliberate pace, now pausing; then
again moving with the utmost rapidity, press
ed by more urgent need — ever watchful, ever
on the alert to seize the first opening for
favorable action. He was compelled to cross
the Passaic. The enemy pursued him closely.
He reached Trenton, and crossed the broad
Delaware. In hot pursuit the English army
followed to the banks of the stream. They
sought to cross. Boats could not be found
— these had all been removed by General
Washington's orders. The? h-Oyered awhile
on the shore, then scattered.1" themselves over
the adjoining country. That small American
army was once more safe, for the moment.
Time and again, my children, during the

MOUNT VEBNON. 31

course of that memorable war, were tne slen
der American forces struggling for the freedom
of the country, befriended, as it were, by
the noble rivers of the land. The ample
waters, flowing broad and deep, formed natu
ral barriers against the invader.

But most gloomy were the prospects of the
American army, now gathered on the western
bank of the Delaware. The future lay dark,
and seemingly hopeless, before them. Stout
hearts began to fail. There was secret murmur
ing — there was underhand plotting — curses
were at work — slander was heard. The char
acter of General Washington was assailed.
There were many now very ready to blame
the Commander-in-Chief — was he always to re
treat ? Suddenly news flew over the country
of a very brilliant action — an action wholly un
expected. Boldly recrossing the Delaware,
on a cold and stormy winter's night — Christ
mas-Eve of 1776-r-at the head of his half-clad
troops, General Washington had surprised,
defeated, and taken prisoners a large body
of the enemy's Hessian troops, at Trenton.
Then, moving gallantly onward, he had fol-

32 MOUNT VEKNON.

lowed up his first success, in spite of urgent
needs of men and money — and turning upon
the enemy, defeated him at Princeton, drove
him, in his turn, step by step, over the sandy
roads of New Jersey, in full retreat. He
closed the campaign by securing a favorable
encampment for the winter among the heights
of Morristown.

But, my young friends, we are wandering
too far. Time would fail us, were we to lin
ger at every striking event of that memorable
war, in which General Washington stands
prominent in the foreground. You may find
the record of these events already printed on
many a page ; they are already written, it is
to be hoped, on your own young hearts, be
yond the power of forgetfulness. A rapid
glance is all we may now allow ourselves.
The gloomy months of the year 1776 reliev
ed by the daring victory at Trenton; the
inarch through Philadelphia the following
season, the ragged troops wearing sprigs of
evergreen in their hats as the best attempt
at uniform their scanty clothing would allow ;
the defeat on the Brandywine, where the

MOUOT VERNON. 33

gallant and loyal Lafayette first fought by
the side of Washington ; the loss of Philadel
phia ; the daring attack at Germantown ; a
victory won — then vanishing as it were in the
fog and smoke of the field : of all these you
have read. Then we corne to the wretched
winter at Valley Forge — the frosty roads
marked with the blood of the bare-footed
soldiers; the narrow huts of logs, without
food, without clothing, without blankets to
keep the life-blood of the men from freezing
in their veins ; nay, without straw for the sick
to die on ! And darker still, let us not forget
the cunning plotting, the undeserved blame,
the cowardly abuse, which in those months
of gloom were aimed at the noble head of
Washington. My children, the generous spirit
is best known in the hour of trial. Undaunted,
true to himself and to duty, devoted with all
his powers to the good of his country, the
character of General Washington never ap
peared more truly great than during those
darkest months of his life — the winter at Val
ley Forge.

Then comes the French alliance — the

34 MOUNT VEENON.

English leaving Philadelphia, General "Wash
ington again in pursuit of their retreating
army through the Jerseys; the battle of
Monmouth, so nearly lost, so bravely won;
the return of Sir Henry Clinton to New
York; the hopes, the anxieties, the disap-*
pointments of General Washington regarding
the French fleet, and the winter encampment
at Middlebrook.

The winter of 1779 was marked as usual
with grave cares and severe trials to the
Commander-in-Chief. Little sympathy had
his generous nature with the petty jealousies,
the narrow selfishness, which "now began to
show themselves but too plainly among the
inferior political men of the day. The best
men of the* country, the men tiniting ability
with high moral character, were no longer in
Congress. Well did he, the 'noblest among
them all, feel the great truth, that when such
men — the upright, the loyal, the unselfish — are
content to leave the public work of the coun
try in unworthy hands, more or less of public
risk and public disgrace is inevitable.

With the next year, 1780, we have Gen-

MOUNT VERNON. 35

eral Washington on the Hudson, with his
troops. And that most daring attack on
Stony Point follows — a work so boldly plan
ned by the Commander-in-Chief, thoroughly
prepared, and most gallantly achieved by
General Wayne, "Mark Antony" of the
army — a strong fort, garrisoned by six hun
dred men, surprised and stormed at midnight
by two hundred men ! It was indeed a very
gallant exploit— one of the most brilliant feats
on record in the annals of war.

The winter of 1780, so terribly cold, is
again marked by the sufferings of the Ameri
can army, in their winter quarters at Morris-
town. As before, these brave men were left
by the careless public officers without clothing,
without bread, without meat, without money,
in their narrow huts. Perchance they might
have starved but for the kindly sympathy of
the people of New Jersey, who brought them
supplies out of good-will. How many leaves
of the history of the Revolution are marked
with the bitter necessities of the army — with
the wearing trials and anxieties of their chief,
for the lack of that aid from the government

36 MOUNT VEENON.

without which we should have supposed they
must have been almost utterly powerless!
There were times when the difficulties ap
peared all but overwhelming. There was a
childish littleness of calculation, a narrowness
of views in the proceedings of Congress con
nected with the army, quite disgraceful ; and
when it is considered that the fate of the
nation was at stake, such a course becomes
culpable in the extreme. To a man of the
singular discretion, forethought, and soundness
of judgment of the Commander-in-Chief, such
mismanagement must have been especially try
ing. Private affairs managed in the same way,
must have brought utter ruin on any man.
Happily the resources of nations are greater.
When endangered by mismanagement they
are often enabled to rally from what appears
the brink of ruin. With republics this is espe
cially the case. The broad principles of general
justice which make up their constitution, carry
life farther and deeper into their system than
into that of other nations ; they can bear with
safety greater shocks, so long at least as the
moral principles by which they exist are pre-

MOUNT VEENON. 37

served with any degree of fidelity. They
often appear strangely weak, while yet they
have at the heart life-giving fountains of
strength which enable them to rally and to
act in time of need, with a vigor perhaps
wholly unlocked for, and far beyond that of
their adversary — startling the world by their
proofs of power. Thus it was in the war of
the Revolution. The great moral principles
of simple justice, for which the people and
their leaders were honestly contending,
buoyed them up amid innumerable stormy
perils.

Spring found General Washington at West
Point, anxious, as he had been for a long time,
to attack New York ; but he was not strong
enough to undertake a step so important, un
supported by the allied forces of France. A
French fleet was hourly expected at Newport.
Meanwhile Sir Henry Clinton had sailed south
ward, reduced Charleston, after a very gal
lant defence of that city by General Lincoln
and his troops, and had again returned north
ward, leaving Lord Cornwallis in Carolina.
There was now a seeming quiet in the English

38 MOUNT VERNON.

camp. Sir Henry Clinton appeared idle. Ah,
little did General Washington know the dan
ger which threatened him from that quarter ;
little was he aware of the work now plotting
under the eye of Sir Henry Clinton ! Letters
were passing up and down the Hudson, of
which he knew nothing — letters from his own
camp at West Point to the British head-quar
ters ; one day borne stealthily in boats gliding
under the shores — at another carried by land
along the highways, passing from one treach
erous hand to another. A traitor stood by
the side of the Commander-in-Chief, breaking
bread with him at the same board, sharing
his secret counsels — a traitor far more guilty
than the wild savage who had once fired upon
him in the wilderness of Ohio. The French
fleet arrived. Unsuspicious of evil, General
Washington, anxious to prepare for the intend
ed attack on New York, left West Point for
Hartford, to meet the commander of the allied
forces just arrived. At the very hour when
the Commander-in-Chief of the American army
was sitting at the council-board in Hartford,
in consultation with the Count de Rocham-

MOUNT VEENON. 39

beau, treacnery was busily at work on the
banks of the Hudson. The traitorous plan
was completed. All was ready. At midnight,
of a beautiful starlight night, the 21st of Sep
tember, an English officer landed from a boat
at a solitary spot in Haverstraw Bay. It was
at the foot of Long Clove Mountain, which
threw its starlight shadows over the wild spot.
There, concealed in a thicket, shrinking from
the dim face of night, as it were, like the
guilty creature he was, stood an American
general, come there with the vile purpose of
selling on that spot, and at that hour, his
comrades, his chief, his country, and his honor,
for a few paltry pounds of gold. Wretched
man that he was — you know his name already,
my young friends, but too well. The guilty
tale has been often told to you. Let us have
done with it. But, as we pass up and down
that grand river to-day, with a speed scarcely
leaving time for thought, let us still send up
to Heaven an aspiration of thankfulness for
the protection vouchsafed in that evil hour to
our country, her army, and her great leader.
The plot was discovered. Benedict Ar-

40 MOUNT VEENON.

nold escaped, safe in body, blasted in name
forever. The luckless young English officer,
Andre, was executed, sternly, but justly, in
accordance with well-established military law.
General Washington's mind was scarcely
relieved from this critical danger, ere his at
tention was again engrossed by the state of
the army. Difficulties, as of old, want of men,
and of means, beset his path. N^ot'a month,
not a week, scarcely a day, of those long years
was free from trials of this nature. Time and
again, well-formed plans of the Commander-in-
Chief and his generals were abandoned, for the
.ack of that aid they had every just reason to
demand. Many a victory, many a gallant ex
ploit, my young friends, might have been
added to the history of the Revolution, as it
now stands on record, had the men and means
pledged to the Commander-in- Chief been faith
fully provided. But, as we look backward to
day, knowing that the great national battle
was happily won at last, far higher than
the renown of victory may we prize those
grand lessons of wisdom, of prudence, of forti
tude, of unwavering devotion to duty, of faith

MOUNT VERNON. 41

in the power of truth and justice, as they are
taught by the example of George Washing
ton, in those hours of severe trial. The attack
on New York was still the project which the
Commander-in-Chief had most at heart, believ
ing that one successful blow struck here by
the united armies of America and France,,
must insure an early peace. But, as usual,
there was delay. The armies were not yet
ready for action.

Meanwhile the brave States at the south
ward — the Carolinas and Virginia, had become
the field of war. It was on that ground the
great battle of the nation was now fought.
The American troops in that quarter, like
their brethren at the North, were often want
ing in almost every essential of war but gal
lant hearts and brave leaders. The names of
Lincoln, Greene, Sumter, Marion, Washing
ton, Morgan, and others, their comrades —
how many daring exploits, under cloud or
sunshine, do they recall to us ! How often
have we read the story of those bold attacks,,
skilful retreats — the rising of the rivers one

after another — the Catawba, the Yadkin, the:

4

42 MOUNT VEENON.

Dan ; one army pursuing the other in quick
succession, with rapid changes, until suddenly
and unexpectedly General Greene moves
southward, and Lord Cornwallis, after a brief
and anxious delay, fearing the loss of all he
had hitherto ,won in Carolina, changes his di
rection also. And the two armies, which but
a few days earlier were closely pursuing each
other, one or the other in advance, according
to the chances of war, were now seen flying
far asunder, towards opposite points, each
commander with an object of his own. Lord
Cornwallis was eager to reach Virginia, to
unite his own diminished forces with the
British army already there. Little did he
dream of the circumstances under which, ere
many months had passed, he should again pass
the bounds of that State 1

For some time Arnold — the guilty Ar
nold — had been in command of the enemy's
forces in Virginia, ravaging the country with
a heartlessness that proved plainly that with his
allegiance he had also forgotten the spirit of
humanity which has marked American war
fare. The watchful eye of the Commander-in-

MOUNT VERNON. 43

Chief, from his camp on the Hudson, took in
the whole field of war. The movements of
armies, to the utmost extent of the country,
were often planned by him. He may have
felt something of additional sympathy, as he
saw now his native province laid waste by the
enemy. A proof of the strength of his love
of country, of his high sense of honor, is now
given to the world, though at the moment
known only to the man to whom his rebuke
was addressed. Mount Vernon was threat
ened with fire by the enemy. Other country
houses had been recently burned by the Brit
ish troops, in Virginia-. The agent, to save
the house and the plantation from ruin, sent
provisions to the enemy, and went himself on
board their ship. The indignation of Gen.
Washington, on learning this fact, was great
indeed — he could not endure the thought that
a person, representing him during his absence,
should have taken a step so unworthy. Much
as he loved Mount Vernon, greatly as he
longed to return there, he could not endure
the idea that safety should have been pur
chased by an unworthy act : " It would have

44 MOUOT VEENON.

been a less painful circumstance to me, to
have heard that in consequence of your non-
compliance with their request they had
burned my house, and laid my plantation in
ruins." Such was his private rebuke to his
agent : strong language, but, like all lan
guage used by George Washington, the hon
est expression of his heart. He had long
since deliberately declared himself ready to
sacrifice life and property to the service of
his country ; he now stood ready at any hour
to carry out that pledge to the utmost — to
preserve, at every cost, pure integrity of word
and deed.

General Washington was now encamped
on the Hudson, among the Greenburg hills,
about Dobb's Ferry, anxiously awaiting the
arrival of additional troops before moving
upon New York. The attack on that city
was fully prepared. The French army under
General de Rochambeau was lying among the
Greenburg hills, in close neighborhood, and in
good fellowship with the American troops.
The generals had gone over the ground ;
their plans were complete. They were only

MOtJ'NT VERNON. 45

awaiting the reinforcements expected by the
American army. But the fresh troops came
in very slowly, and in small numbers. Gene
ral Washington was pained and mortified by
these delays, at a moment of the highest im
portance. At length, however, towards the
middle of August, preparations were more
actively carried on. A large encampment was
marked out in the Jerseys — to surround New
York by all its approaches seemed the object ;
ovens were built, fuel was provided for baking
the bread needed by a large force ; pioneers
were sent forward to break the roads leading
towards New York, and prepare them for the
passage of troops and artillery. At length, on
the 19th of August, the army was paraded,
with their faces towards New York. The
order to march was given— but, to the amaze
ment of the troops themselves, they were
turned in the opposite direction from the Brit
ish posts. They had expected to attack. They
moved to the northward some miles, then
crossed the Hudson. The French forces fol
lowed in the same direction. The camp al
ready prepared in the Jerseys was supposed
4*

46 MOUNT VEKNON.

to be their goal. But such were not the views
of their leaders. They marched through the
Jerseys without pausing, leaving New York
in their rear. Now, at length, it became evi
dent that Virginia was their object. Stirring
events were taking place on that ground.
Generals Lafayette and Wayne, by a series
of skilful movements, had not only escaped
from the pursuit of Lord Cornwallis, but, car
rying out the suggestions of General Wash
ington, had succeeded in throwing a military
net -work about the British army, confining it
within narrow bounds by a skilful distribu
tion of the American forces. At the same
moment, the expected French fleet was found
to have changed its destination from New
York to the Chesapeake — a fact which ren
dered it necessary to postpone the attempt on
New York, while, on the other hand, it ren
dered the hope of capturing the British army
in Virginia almost certain. This intelligence
had caused the sudden movement of General
Washington and Count de Rochambeau to
the southward. Sir Henry Clinton was amazed
when he learned the allied armies had already

MOUNT VEKNON. 47

reached the Delaware. They marched through
Philadelphia ; they passed over much the same
ground as in 1777, but under very different
circumstances. Lord Cornwallis, finding it
impossible to withdraw his army, prepared to
defend himself at Yorktown, strengthening
the place to the utmost of his power.

On the 28th of September the allied Amer
ican and French armies, twelve thousand
strong, began their work as besiegers. ' The
Commander-in-Chief, the Count de Rocham-
beau, Generals Lafayette, "Wayne, Steuben,
Lincoln, and many other distinguished soldiers
of both armies, were on the ground. Gov
ernor Nelson, of Virginia, brought the militia
of that State into the field, raising the funds
for their expenses by pledging his own private
property for the purpose. The besieging
works were commenced, stretching before
Yorktown in a semicircle nearly two miles in
length. General Washington closely superin
tended the labors of the troops. He was fre
quently exposed to great danger ; but, as
usual, wholly forgetful of personal risks. His

48 MOUNT VEENON.

generals, at times, remonstrated with him upon
his want of caution.

The English army, now closely shut in
on all sides, soon became distressed. They
were compelled to kill their horses for want
of forage. Parties were sent out to procure
provisions ; skirmishes took place. In one of
these Col. Taiieton, with his famous legion,
mounted on race-horses, had a sharp melee
with M. de Lauzun, and his brilliant French
hussars. On the 6th of October, in the depths
of a dark night, Gen. Lincoln, with a body of
French and American troops, opened a par
allel — as it is called in the language of sieges
— within six hundred yards of the enemy. It
was nearly two miles in length. So silently,
and so skilfully, was the work carried on, that
the enemy was wholly unaware it was going
on, until the morning light appeared. This
work was soon completed. A terrible can
nonade followed ; General "Washington firing
the first gun. Gov. Nelson was consulted as
to the point toward which the cannonade
should be directed, to do most efiective work.
A large house was quietly pointed out by him,

MOUNT VEENON. 49

as the enemy's head-quarters. It was his own.
Of course it was destroyed. All the usual
glaring terrors of a regular siege followed.
On the llth, a second line, within three hun
dred yards of the enemy, was opened by
General Steuben. Two British redoubts seri
ously retarded the work. They were most
gallantly stormed in the same night — the 14th
— one by a party of Americans under General
Lafayette, the other by a French force under
M. de Viomeiul. The Americans, headed by
Colonel Hamilton, rushed upon the redoubt
without firing, without awaiting the usual
military approaches — the fatal work was done
at the point of the bayonet. The French,
having a stronger garrison to oppose them,
advanced more regularly, but with equal gal
lantry. Both parties were entirely successful.
The loss of these redoubts threw Lord Corn-
wallis almost into despair. The British made
a very spirited attack on two American bat
teries — but they were forced to retreat. Lord
Cornwallis could not endure the idea of sur
rendering. He sought to escape — to force an
opening to the southward. The daring at-

50 MOUNT VERNON.

tempt failed. Finding longer defence hope
less — at 10 o'clock on the morning of the 17th,
a flag was sent to General Washington with
proposals of surrender. Two days passed in
the necessary consultations. On the 19th of
October, Lord Cornwallis, and the British
army under his command — some 7,000 in all —
formally surrendered, with all due military
observances, to General Washington, as Com-
mander-in-Chief of the allied armies.

The great struggle was nearly over — clos
ing, for General Washington, as it had begun,
with a siege. But very different was the
management of the siege of Yorktown, carried
on with every regular military proceeding,
from the protracted labors, the disheartening
delays and hinderances of that remarkable
siege of Boston, in which the Commander-in-
Chief first made proof of all his personal pow
ers, as an American general.

With the fall of Yorktown the English
Government abandoned all hope. Ere long
rumors of peace were heard. Still General
Washington, ever watchful and provident,
returned to his post on the Hudson, prepared

MOUNT VEENON. 51

to continue hostilities should it be necessary.
The troops were marched to Newburgh. The
army under General Washington was not
again called into the field. And yet his pres
ence in the camp was never more necessary.
Now that the attention of the troops was no
longer fixed upon the enemy, now that peace
was at hand, a peace purchased by their gal
lantry, they began to turn a sullen eye upon
the internal affairs of the country. The con
duct of Congress, and that of the State gov
ernments, with regard to all the interests of
the troops — officers and men alike — had been
strangely and culpably negligent. Even now,
when the freedom of the country had been
wrought out by their gallantry and fortitude,
they were still but half fed ! Long arrears of
pay were due to them. The murmuring and
discontent increased to an alarming degree.
The real danger to the nation was, perhaps,
greater at that moment than at any period
during the Revolution. — A secret proposition
was made to General Washington: Why
should he not assume the supreme command
of affairs, and with the aid of the army crown

52 MOUNT VERNON.

himself King ! A noble burst of indignation
was the only reply of the Commander-in-Chief.
Never, perhaps, was there a public man more
free from the taint of petty personal ambition.
Still the mutinous disposition of the army
seemed to be gaining ground. The great \
degree of justice in their complaints increased
the danger a thousand-fold. Disorder, vio
lence and anarchy threatened the country —
and, like their sister republics at the south
ward, these States might have become a prey
to successive military outbreaks, and military
leaders. But the evil was wholly warded off,
and the country saved from untold disorder
and violence — the integrity, the wisdom and
upright character of one man contributing,
more, perhaps, than any other influence, to
avert the imminent danger. Sharing, as he
had done, all the trials and dangers of the
army, feeling for the officers and the men with
an interest almost fatherly in its warmth, by
his calm wisdom, and generous example, he
was enabled to control the stormy elements.

"Blessed are the peace-makers, for they
shall be called the children of God." If such

MOUNT VEKNON. 53

be the blessing of the man who in private life
seeks to cherish the lovely spirit of peace,
how much greater must be the merit of the
Christian patriot, who, in seasons of discord,
promotes by word and by deed that unspeak
ably great blessing — national peace ! A close
more worthy of the great military career of
the Commander-in-Chief could scarcely be
named.

And now, on the 19th of April, the eighth
anniversary of the battle of Lexington, the
close of the war with England was publicly
proclaimed to the army.

It was still some months, however, ere
General Washington was released from public
cares. The breaking up of the army; the
fatherly leave-taking from the soldiers j the
solemn parting with his officers, marked by
manly grief; the careful and patient settle
ment of business questions with the British
officials ; his frequent communications with
Congress, with the State authorities ; his sim
ply dignified resignation of the supreme com
mand at Annapolis — all these different duties
delayed his homeward journey.
5

54 MOUNT VEKNOK.

But at length, on Christmas Eve, 1783,
came the happy hour. Once more the gates
of Mount Vernon opened to receive him ; he
was once more at rest within those honored
walls. How simply true, that from early
youth he seemed never to have left those
walls, save on some worthy errand — ever, as
he returned to their shelter, bearing with him,-
year after year, fresh claims upon the respect,
the veneration, the gratitude of his country.

Very happily must the early spring of
Virginia have opened to the great and good
man. His mind was given once more to the
peaceful cares and genial toils of the husband
man. Ere long, loving country life as of old,
we find him keeping a diary of all the little
events of interest. As the months went
round, the days, marked so often in past years
with the gloomy trial, the terrible battle, are
now given to the peaceful work of the farm
and the garden. Jan. the 10th — the period
of the stormy winter campaign in the Jerseys,
he now quietly notes that the thorn is still in
full berry. Jan. the 20th — the anniversary of
the bitter hardships of Valley Forge, the suffer-

MOUNT VEENON. 55

ings of his army, the plottings of his secret ene
mies in the Conway cabal — we now follow him
into his pine groves, where he is happily busy
clearing openings among the undergrowth.
In February, the moment when, during a
previous year, the threatening military out
break was gathering to a head in the Highland
camp, he is pleasantly engaged in transplant
ing ivy. In March, when the siege of Boston
was drawing to a close, engrossing every fac
ulty, he is setting out evergreens — the spruce
which throws its dark shadows over many a
hillside in our country. In April, the month
of Lexington, he sets out willows and lilacs —
he sows holly-berries for a hedge near the
garden-gate, and on the lawn. He rides over
his farms, choosing young trees, elms, ashes,
maples, mulberries, for transplanting. He
sows acorns and buck-eye, brought by himself
from the banks of the Monongahela. He
twines honeysuckles around the columns of
his piazza — the ever-blooming scarlet honey
suckle which the little humming-bird loves so
well.

The first months of peace, which follow a

56 MOUNT VEENON.

long war, are often perilous to a nation. The
excitement of conflict is over, and there re
mains many a deep wound to be healed. But
there were especial dangers connected witk
the first movements of a young nation like our
own, with a form of government still untried.
There was naturally much of evil passion, of
prejudice, of folly, astir. " What, Gracious
God ! is man, that there should be such incon
sistency and perfidiousness in his conduct ? "
was the heartfelt exclamation of General
Washington, amid the discord and disorder
which in 1786 were threatening the very life
of the nation. You know already, my young
friends, how by thoughtful prudence, plain
justice, and a wise conciliation, the evils so
much dreaded by every good man were
warded off. A wisely framed Constitution for
the nation was drawn up, and in 1788 happily
ratified. " We may, with a kind of pious and
grateful exultation, trace the finger of Provi
dence through these dark and mysterious
events * * " again writes General Washing
ton, " in ah1 human probability laying a lasting
foundation for tranquillity and happiness, when

MOUNT VEKNON. 57

we had but too much reason to fear that con
fusion and misery were coming rapidly upon
us."

A permanent government was now formed.
It remained to choose a President. The eyes
of the whole nation were again turned towards
Mount Vernon. General "Washington had not
one secret wish for the honors of the high dig
nity. To General Lafayette he wrote that he
had no desire " beyond that of living and dy
ing, an honest man, on my own farm." The
election took place. From the very heart of
the nation, George Washington was chosen
President of the United States. Never was
there a public choice more honorable to a peo
ple, or to the individual chosen. With noble
humility, with virtuous resolution, with manly
dignity, the weighty charge was accepted.
Seldom indeed has a position of such high
honor been assumed from motives so simply
pure and disinterested.

On the morning of the 16th of April,
General Washington again crossed the thresh
old of Mount Vernon, again sacrificing the
peaceful life he loved, to high public duty.

58 MOUNT VEENON,

Childhood may love its home, as the fledging
bird loves the nest where it is fed ; and fondled
youth may love its home, as the young bird
flutters joyously about the tree whence it first
took wing. But as the shadows of life lengthen,
home becomes far more dear. It is in maturer
life, when a knowledge of the vanities of the
world without has forced itself clearly upon
the mind, that the family hearthstone of a vir
tuous house becomes to the wise man the
dearest spot on earth. It is there that, next
to Heaven, the heart centres. And when we
behold a man clothed with years, and well-
earned honors, the rich fruits of a lifetime of
virtuous action, deliberately leaving his peace
ful roof, to enter once more the toilsome path
of public life — a path whose severe labors,
whose weight of care, whose risks, whose
empty returns, he already knows to the ut
most — our hearts are deeply moved at the
spectacle, with feelings of reverence and grati
tude.

Four long years of weighty care and labor
passed over. The work of the nation went
on. Laws were enacted. Treaties were made.

MOUNT VEENON, 59

An Indian war was carried on. Taxes were
laid. Opposition awoke. Party spirit became
active and violent. And amid the turmoil
and uproar of political life, General Washing
ton moved on his course, calm, firm, just, up
right as ever. The period for another election
came round. He was again unanimously
elected President. The first term of his ser
vice had been chiefly occupied with the regu
lation of internal affairs. Meanwhile great
revolutions were breaking out in Europe;
their natural effects on America were soon
felt. War was declared between Great Britain
and France. The government of the United
States, with General Washington at its head,
wisely resolved to remain neutral. But party
feeling ran high — its spirit was never more
bitter, dividing the nation into rival adherents
of England or of France; as though we were
no longer the independent people we had so
lately proclaimed ourselves to be. But where
two powerful countries are at war, the posi
tion of a neutral people of less power, and in
any manner connected with them, becomes
full of difficulties. The United States suffered

60 MOUNT VEENON.

in many ways by this state of things. Eng
land boldly impressed seamen from American
ships, arrogantly insisting on a right to do so.
France, with equal disregard of all national
laws, openly interfered in the internal affairs
of the Union. In the midst of these embar
rassments, of the gravest character, the Presi
dent earnestly sought to preserve national jus
tice and national dignity. " I wish to estab
lish an American character." This impartial
and independent course exposed him to much
of the grossest abuse. Even his personal
character was assailed — and by his own coun
trymen ! Of so little true value may popular
favor or popular abuse become. The truly
great man must know how to rise far superior
to either in the hour of need. " I prize as I
ought the good opinion of my fellow-citizens ;
yet, if I know myself, I would not seek popu
larity at the expense of one social duty or
moral virtue." Such were his words. Such
was his course.

At the close of the second term of his ser
vice, he announced to the country his resolu
tion to withdraw into private life. It was on

MOUNT VERNON, 61

that occasion, as you remember, that he wrote
the Farewell Address, which, with Laws, and
Constitutions, and Treaties, has a place in the
archives of the nation, How much of unde
niable truth, of pure wisdom, of sound judg
ment — how much of warm love of country,
assuming in the venerable man a touching
paternal character, is found in that paper.
How earnestly he desires we might shun
every peculiar danger of our position — with
what fatherly foresight he warns us against
the most threatening evils. Speaking of a free
government, he plainly declares a very great
truth : " Respect for its authority, compliance
with its laws, acquiescence in its measures,
are duties enjoined by the fundamental max
ims of true liberty. The Constitution which
at any time exists, until changed by an ex
plicit and authentic act of the whole people,
is sacredly obligatory upon all. The very
idea of the power and the right of the people
to establish government, pre-supposes the
duty of every individual to obey the estab
lished government." How justly he valued
true freedom, and how clearly he saw the

62 MOUNT YERNON.

fact, that it can never exist on earth without
the restraint of law and justice, duly observed :
u It is indeed little else than a name, where
the government is too feeble to withstand the
enterprises of faction, to confine each member
of society within the limits prescribed by the
laws, and to maintain all in the secure and
tranquil enjoyment of the rights of person and
property." How well he describes party
spirit, as often a small, but artful and en
croaching, minority of the community. " It
exists under different shapes in all govern
ments * * but in those of a popular form
it is seen in its greatest rankness, and is truly
their worst enemy." How plainly he urges
the great truth, that there can be no sound,
no lasting popular government, without a liv
ing spirit of virtue and religion in the hearts
of the community. How carefully he teaches
the importance of public honesty — the up
right discharge of debt. How nobly he
would impress upon the country the observ
ance of good faith and justice towards all na
tions, " cultivating peace and harmony with
all."

MOUNT VEKNON. 63

While the nation were still reading this
noble address, the venerable man was gladly
preparing to lay aside his public honors, and
thankfully turning his face again toward his
own quiet roof.

It was a happy moment of the year for the
aged patriot to enter his own gates. With
returning spring, his stately person, now vene
rable with years, was again seen moving about
his fields, directing the work of his laborers,
passing along familiar paths, overshadowed by
the trees he loved so well. His doors were
once more thrown wide with the olden hospi
tality, generous in spirit, simple in form. His
barns and storehouses were again opened to
relieve the poor, as in previous years, when he
wrote, during the trials of the siege of Bos
ton : " Let the hospitality of the house with
respect to the poor be kept up. Let no one
go hungry away. If any of this kind of peo
ple should be in want of corn, supply their ne
cessities, provided it does not encourage them
to idleness." He who in early youth, before
he was yet of age, was the chosen guardian
of the fatherless little girl, was now the friend

64 MOUNT VEENON.

to whom more than one widow, more than one
orphan flock, looked for aid, and guidance, and
protection.

Ere long, public cares followed him again
to his plantation. The difficulties with France
were gradually becoming more grave. It be
came necessary to prepare for war. So long
as General "Washington lived, the people were
unwilling to trust their armies to another
chief. " In the event of an open rupture with
France; the public voice will again call you to
command the armies of your country," writes
General Hamilton. "We must have your
name," writes the President ; " there will be
more efficiency in it than in many an army."

With deep regret General Washington
again saw the toils of public life spreading be
fore him. Ikit true to duty as ever, unselfish
in his noble old age as in ardent youth, he
declared himself reluctant to leave his retire
ment, yet ready to serve his country, if need
ed : " The principle by which my conduct has
been actuated through life would not suffer
me, in any great emergency, to withhold any

MOUNT VEKNON. 65

services I could render, when required by iny
country."

In July, 1798, the Secretary of War was
sent by the President to wait on General
Washington, at Mount Vernon, bearing with
him the commission of Lieutenant-General, and
Command er-in-Chief of the armies of the Re
public. From that moment, the summer days
were divided between the necessary prepara
tions for the duty before him, and the lighter
labors of the fields, which he ever loved so
well. As he rode over the hills, and through
the woods, on the banks of the Potomac, his
mind was filled with plans for the war which
seemed so near. Yet, to his experienced eye,
that cloud of war appeared more likely to
pass away. He never believed that France
would actually bring on hostilities. Still, with
his usual forethought, he would have every
preparation made — these, in themselves, being
often the best means of averting bloodshed.
It is a singular fact that he, who in compara
tive youth was so cautiously prudent, so de
liberate in all his military steps, now, at three
score and ten, proposed an entirely different
6

66 MOUNT VERNON.

course. The French soldier was a different
man from the British soldier ; a different
course must be adopted with him. He chose
for his generals the boldest and most daring
spirits among the military men of the country,
to plan a series of rapid movements, continued
attacks : " The enemy must never be permit
ted to gain foothold on our shores."

Thus passed away the months of summer
and of autumn. With early winter a solemn
change was at hand.

On Friday, the 13th of December, light
clouds were gathering over the banks of the
Potomac, and the plantation of Mount Ver-
non. A gentle ram fell. It was the will of
Providence that those clouds should become
to George Washington the shadows of death.
He was abroad, as usual, in the fields, direct
ing the farm-work of the plantation. His long
gray locks, falling about his throat, were wet
with the rain. Heedless of the fact, he re
turned home, passing the remaining hours of
the day in his accustomed peaceful manner, at
the family fire-side. During the night he be
came alarmingly ill. A very severe affection

HOUOT VEENON. 67

of the throat came on. From the first he
believed that he should die. The usual reme
dies were employed, but without avail. He
lingered some twenty-four hours, and near
midnight of Saturday, December 14th, in full
possession of his faculties, and in the calmness
of Christian faith, he closed his eyes on this
world.

The following week, on Wednesday, the
18th of December, he was borne to his grave —
a grave opened at a spot chosen by himself, on
the grassy hill-side, overshadowed by trees —
the Potomac flowing below — the home in
which so many honored days had been passed,
rising from the brow of the hill above.

There may he lie in peace, guarded by the
love of a grateful nation, until the Resurrec
tion of the Just !

Children of America ! brief and imperfect
as this rapid sketch of a great life must ap
pear to you, it may yet serve in some degree
to warm anew your young hearts towards
one of the greatest Christian patriots the
world has ever seen. In some beautiful coun
tries of the earth, my young friends, there

68 MOUNT VEKNON.

are mountain heights, raising their hoary
heads heavenward with so much of majesty,
that even a dim and distant view, even a
cloudy vision of their greatness, will deeply
impress the beholder. Thus it is with the
character of George Washington. The more
we examine its just proportions, its beautiful
points, its great moral power, the more
deeply shall we become impressed with its
admirable excellence. But even a brief and
imperfect view must reveal enough to fill the
thoughtful mind with feelings of very deep
reverence.

Children of America! We come to you
to-day, afiectionately inviting you to take part
in a great act of national homage to the
memory, to the principles, to the character
of George Washington. The solemn guard
ianship of the home, and of the grave, of Gen
eral Washington is now oflered to us, the
women of the country. Happy are we,
women of America, that a duty so noble is
confided to us. And we, your country,
women — your mothers, your sisters, your
friends— would fain have you share with us

MOUNT VEENON. 69

this honorable, national service of love.
From those of you into whose hands Prov
idence has thrown coin, be it gold, or silver,
or copper, we would ask a gift for the purse
we are seeking to fill. More than a gift of
small amount we should not consent to re
ceive from either of your number. But with
far more of earnestness we seek your warm
and real sympathy. Whatever you may be
enabled to give, be it bright dime, or clean
copper, fresh from the mint, we ask that you
give it feelingly — as a simple act of love and
respect for the memory of the great man.
It is the spirit thrown into every work
which can alone give it true value. Let us
then, my young friends, give to the pious
task in which we are working together, a
heart and soul, as it were, hi some degree
worthy of the purpose. Let this work be
come, on our part, a public act of veneration
for virtue — of respect for love of country in
its highest form, pure, true, and conscien
tious" — of loyalty to the Union, the vital
principle of our national existence. Let it
become, for each of us, a public pledge of re-
6*

70 MOUNT VEKNON.

spect for the Christian home, with all its
happy blessings, its sacred restraints — of rev
erence for the Christian grave, the solemn
mysteries, the glorious hopes, shrouded with
in it. Let it become a pledge of our undying
gratitude to him who lies sleeping so calmly
yonder, on the banks of the Potomac. Let
it become a pledge of our thankfulness to
heaven, for having granted to the country a
man so truly great. And, my young friends,
let this act become to ourselves a pledge that
we shall endeavor — each in the natural sphere
allotted to us by an All-wise Providence — to
make a worthy use of the life and faculties
granted to us by God ; a pledge that we shall
seek, in truth and sincerity, to follow all just
and generous principles — striving to serve
our God, our country, our fellow-men, with
something of the uprightness, the wisdom,
the fidelity, the humility, to be learned from
the life of George Washington.

Faithfully your Friend

and Countrywoman,

THANKSGIVING DAT, Nov. 19th, 1858.

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